


Danger Towns

by montecarlos



Category: GP2 RPF
Genre: Angst, Bratva AU, Growing Up Together, M/M, Russian Mafia, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 02:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7666366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlos/pseuds/montecarlos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitch was eleven when he met Artem Markelov for the first time. The young Bratva heir has no idea what the Russian will come to mean to me, or of the missed opportunities the two will endure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danger Towns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princessrosberg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessrosberg/gifts).



> Well, this fic is for my favourite person in the whole entire world and I tried to keep it a secret from her but she already knows who wrote this! ♥ ♥ ♥ I hope this is what you wanted, I deviated a bit from what you asked for but I hope you enjoy this. You're gonna smash those exam results, I know it!
> 
> I cheated a little as this fic is built into my Bratva universe and follows a lot of the canon surrounding that and it's a lot longer than I planned but I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoy reading it.

Mitch was eleven when he met Artem Markelov for the first time. Artem’s a close friend of his uncles, a tall fourteen year old that seems to tower over him with soft, dark hair and gleaming dark brown eyes. He knows that Artem is being groomed to take his rightful place at Daniil’s side, he knows that Artem is dangerous, that he’s being bred to fire a gun when he was eight, killed his first man when he was ten and already bears the mark of the Bratva family proudly over his heart. Mitch tries not to glance at the blood sticking underneath his fingernails as Artem holds out his hand for Mitch to shake.    
  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, prince,” Artem purrs, the smile curving over his lips as his fingers hover over Mitch’s for longer than usual.    
  
Mitch worries his lip. He knows the blush is dancing over his cheeks at Artem’s touch. “And you too, Artem is it?” He asks, testing out his Russian. Artem’s grin widens ever so slightly at Mitch’s pronunciation - Mitch knows it’s not as good as Max’s - but he spends his summers in Australia with his dad.    
  
“Artem Markelov,” The tall teenager says. “You’re very different than I expected,”   
  
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Mitch asks, the blush still clinging to his cheeks.    
  
“I’m not sure yet,” Artem teases, his fingers still holding onto Mitch’s before he hears a familiar cough behind him. Daniil stands behind him, his hazel-green eyes locked on their locked hands.    
  
“Artem,” He mutters in Russian. “You’re needed in this meeting,”    
  
The grin drops away from Artem’s lips as his hand moves away from Mitch’s, their fingers sliding apart as Artem nods once, turning on his heel and following the young Bratva prince out of the door. Mitch watches them go, the blush still clinging to his cheeks. He wonders why his chest fluttered at the sight of Artem, wonders if it’s because he’s the only guy who has ever paid Mitch any attention - the only other men who pay Mitch attention are the people his father pays, who know that he’s heir to two of the most notorious families in the world.    
  
He still thinks of Artem later that night, wonders how much blood he’s spilt, how many people he’s killed, what he will grow up to become. His hands dance over his bare skin, under his t-shirt as he thinks about his brandless skin, he wonders if when he turns fourteen, if he will get the brand, if his hands will be tainted with blood.   
  


* * *

  
  
Mitch meets Artem again when he’s fourteen at his Bratva initiation ceremony. He spots the dark brown eyes in the masses of black suits as he kneels down on the floor, Dany stands before him in his blood-red Bratva coat, his sword shining at his side.    
  
“Mitchell Evans Webber,” He calls out into the chamber, his hazel-green eyes dark. “You have come of age, it is time for you to prove yourself to the Bratva, to prove you are a worthy brother to us all,” He says carefully, pressing the knife into Mitch’s hand. Mitch’s fingers shake as they curve over it, the air still cool over his bare skin.    
  
Daniil picks up the poker, still hot from the fire, spinning it around between his fingers as his eyes land on Mitch. “Recite the verse of the Brotherhood,” He commands as Mitch worries his lip, forcing out the words out from between cracked lips. The poker hits his skin and he jolts, the Russian pausing on his lips as the heat sears into his skin. He feels the tears at the corners of his eyes, the pain building inside him as he continues to recite the Russian verses, the burning intensifying with every second.    
  
Mitch finally feels the poker be lifted from his warm skin and gasps out, tries to take air into his lungs - as he glances up into Daniil’s cold hazel-green eyes. Daniil steps away, someone taking the red hot poker from him as he turns back to look down at Mitch. “As per protocol,” He says in Russian, “You must kill someone before the end of the fourteenth day from now, Mitchell,”   
  
“What-” Mitch begins but he bites his tongue, his eyes glancing over the man standing behind his uncle. He finds himself gazing at Artem, into the Russian’s dark eyes. Artem’s expression is stoic, unchanging but there’s something held in his eyes - something that Mitch realises is concern or worry. But he looks away, feels the blood slipping down his chest as the ceremony comes to an end, ignores Artem’s gaze settled on him as a shot of vodka is thrust into his shaking fingers. He downs it to cheers, shouts of Russian echoing around him, wanting nothing more than to retire to his room.    
  


* * *

  
  
He manages to get back up to his room a few hours later, his head foggy with alcohol as he unbuttons his shirt, hissing at the new brand on his skin. He reaches out to touch the blackened edges of his skin before he hears a gentle knock on the door - barely audible. Mitch finds himself stumbling over to the door and opening it carefully, only to find Artem standing on the other side.    
  
“Are you alright?” Artem whispers in English and Mitch furrows his brow, he’s so used to Russian falling from the older teenager’s lips.    
  
“I’m okay,” Mitch says quietly as Artem brushes past him, taking hold of his hand and leading him into the bathroom. “Artem, what are you doing-”   
  
“Your wound needs cleaning properly,” Artem says as he rifles through Mitch’s bathroom cabinet. He lifts Mitch onto the cabinet as he carefully begins to wipe away the dried blood from around the corners of the wound, Mitch winces against his touch, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes.    
  
“I’m sorry,” Artem whispers, his hand stilling on Mitch’s wound.    
  
“For what?” Mitch asks between gritted teeth. “I’m a Bratva prince, I knew this was coming, I’ve know for years that this was going to happen,”   
  
“Still, it’s not easy,” Artem continues, throwing away the blood sodden cloth he was using. “It is not easy to grow up in this world, to have that pressure on you from a young age-”   
  
Mitch finds himself glancing down at the floor, feeling helpless and small. He hates feeling like this, like he’s weak, like he needs help. “Hey,” Artem’s voice is soft as he cups Mitch’s cheek, the Kiwi feels the warmth tug inside his thighs and down his abdomen as Artem’s brown eyes meet his own. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for that,”   
  
“It’s not your fault,” Mitch says softly, tears still in the corners of his eyes. “I just….they want me to kill someone in the next two weeks - I’ve held a gun, sure, but I don’t think I’m ready, I don’t think I’m strong enough to be a Bratva prince,”   
  
“It’s not about being the strongest, Mitch,” Artem says. “You’re human, just like everyone else, it’s okay to think that you’re not ready. The Bratva is a powerful thing. You are young-”   
  
“I’m older than you were when you killed a man, Artem,” Mitch says, trying not to look into Artem’s eyes.    
  
“The circumstances were very different, Mitch,” Artem replies. “Look, if you need me to do it for me, I can,”   
  
“What?” Mitch asks, eyes wide.    
  
“I can kill someone for you,” Artem says, his eyes not leaving Mitch’s.    
  
“Artem, you can’t-”   
  
“I can,” Artem says, his face stoic. “I can and I would for you,”    
  
“You can’t,” Mitch says, shaking his head. “You have to let me do this on my own, Artem. I have to prove myself to my father and to everyone who thinks that I can’t do this,”   
  
“You don’t have to be this monster, Mitchell,” Artem’s thumb strokes over his cheek. “I can spare you from that,”   
  
“No, you can’t,” Mitch cuts in. “You can’t spare me from this life that I’m supposed to live,”    
  
Artem looks hurt as his hand slides away from Mitch’s cheek, his eyes full of hurt and anger. “Don’t cover your brand, let the air get to it,” He says, shortly as he leaves the bathroom.    
  
“Artem-” Mitch begins but he stops as the door slams shut. The tears that were threatening to build up in his eyes finally fall free as he thinks about the callouses on Artem’s hand, probably from using his gun for so many years, thinks about the soft brown eyes, thinks about how Artem looked at him and finds himself sinking into his bed, burying his face into the pillow, tears falling down his cheeks.    
  
He thinks about Artem when he kills his first man a few days later. He thinks about hurt brown eyes as the gun drops from between shaking fingers, blood still splattered across his face.    
  


* * *

  
  
Mitch is sixteen when he sees Artem again. Daniil officially takes over the Bratva as a married man - Mitch watches him and Carlos pledge themselves to one another, watches Carlos nearly assassinate Daniil in front of the entire wedding party. He wonders if his own wedding will be the same, if he will be forced to marry someone he does not love. Mitch watches Artem standing at the front of the wedding party, at Daniil’s side, his red coat gleaming under the dim lights and he feels his chest flutter at the sight. He wonders who his husband will be when his time comes, if it will be Artem.   
  
“Hello,” Artem’s voice pipes up and Mitch stiffens, downing the shot of vodka before he turns around to meet the familiar brown eyes. “Thought you’d have disappeared by now,”   
  
“I wanted to, but my father caught me and said I had to make an impression,” Mitch says, looking down at the shot glasses in front of him. “So I thought I’d drink instead,”   
  
“Hey,” Artem says, pushing away the next shot. “You need to slow down,”    
  
“You’re not my dad-” Mitch begins, only to see a strange silver ring encircling Artem’s ring finger. “What is that?”   
  
Artem’s eyes seem to darken as they lock on the ring. “I am engaged, to be married,”   
  
“What?” Mitch whispers, eyes widening. “What the fuck-”   
  
“It is not my choice, Mitchell,” Artem says quietly. “Daniil insists with him now preparing to take over the Bratva,” He says, worrying his lip. “I did not ask for this-”   
  
“Who?” Mitch asks, mouth dry.    
  
“Sergey,” Artem says softly.    
  
“That’s not fair,” Mitch says, shaking his head. “That’s not right,”   
  
“Maybe so, but it must be done. I am an engaged man,” Artem says, softness and sadness in his voice. Mitch looks down at the ring circling around Artem’s finger and feels the nausea rise up inside his stomach. “Mitch-” Artem begins but Mitch doesn’t hear the words, he slams back two shots of vodka one after the other before he stumbles off the bar stool and into the crowd of people.    
  
He thinks about the ring on Artem’s finger, wonders if he’s next, wonders who his parents and his uncle will choose for him, somebody he will not love presumably. His head spins, his mouth dry from the alcohol as he loses himself in the crowd of people. He can hear Artem’s shouts but he ignores them, his thoughts still muggy from the alcohol.    
  


* * *

  
  
He doesn’t know how he ends up meeting the tall, dark haired teenage boy at the party. He’s got beautiful, dark brown eyes - so much like Artem’s, but there’s something different in them. They end up kissing - Mitch still half drunk on the alcohol as the boy’s lips fold against his own.    
  
“Fuck-” Mitch whispers out. “I don’t even know your name,”   
  
“Do you need to?” The boys says, smirking as their lips collide together. Mitch feels the heat curl up inside his thighs as the boy pushes him into his bed, his hands moving to ghost up Mitch’s thighs. “God, you feel so good,” He whispers and Mitch giggles against the teenager’s lips as his cold hands slide down underneath his Armani trousers.    
  
“Oh god,” Mitch whispers as the teenager latches onto his neck, sucking a bruise into the bronzed, warm skin, his hands curving over his half-hard cock, the dizziness still washing over him, his fingernails digging into the pale skin of the teenager’s back. “Oh god,”   
  
The teenager smiles as his hand moves over Mitch’s cock quickly, building a rhythm that makes the young Bratva heir arch his back, his head falling against the pillows. However, as quickly as the heat begins, it’s gone as the teenager pauses, his hand stilling on Mitch.    
  
“What the fuck-” Mitch begins, only to sit upright and come face to face with Artem, still dressed in his wedding suit, his gun pulled on the teenager.   
  
“Artem-” Mitch begins, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”   
  
“Could ask you the same question,” Artem says, his eyes cold and dark, fixed on the teenage boy. “Of all the people for you to sleep with, I didn’t figure you’d go for the heir to the firm,”   
  
“Markelov,” The teenager says, carefully, eyes trained on the gun.    
  
“Alexander Lynn, all grown up,” Artem says, his lips curving in distaste. “What are you doing with the prince?”   
  
“What does it look like I’m doing?” The teenager - Alex - says with a raised eyebrow. “What are you anyway? His bodyguard?”   
  
“I am, yes,” Artem spits, his eyes dark, the gun still trained on Alex, unwavering. “I suggest you step away from the young prince immediately,”   
  
“You’re Bratva?” Alex says, his eyes wide as he surveys Mitch. “I didn’t know that you were a Bratva prince-”   
  
“I’m sorry,” Mitch says, watching Alex carefully smooth away the creases on his suit. “I’m so sorry,” He says, looking down at the floor as Alex slides off the bed, the door softly closing behind him.    
  
“What were you thinking?” Artem says quietly when the footsteps echo away. “What were you thinking, Mitchy?”   
  
“I just wanted to be with someone-” Mitch says, fiddling with the sheets. “I wanted to do something without my dad’s permission-”   
  
“He could have hurt you,” Artem says, his voice still cold. “He could have raped you,”   
  
“Why do you care?” Mitch says, eyes finally meeting Artem’s. “Why do you care what happens to me? Why did you have to come in here acting like a jealous boyfriend-”   
  
“Someone has to look out for you when you’re acting like this!” Artem snarls back, the softness gone from his eyes completely. “You can’t act like this, you’re a prince of the Bratva!”   
  
Mitch stiffens at the words, his father’s disapproving stare coming back to him. “Glad to see that you’re no different to them, that I’m nothing but a disappointment to you,”   
  
“Mitchy-” Artem begins, his eyes and his voice softening. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that-”   
  
“Just leave,” Mitch says, shaking his head.    
  
“Mitch-” Artem says softly, pleading.    
  
“Get out,” Mitch spits, his voice low. “Just get out,” He hisses in Russian and waits for Artem’s soft footsteps to shuffle away and the door to close before the tears fall down his cheeks.    
  


* * *

  
  
The invitation arrives just before Mitch’s eighteenth birthday. It’s beautiful - thick, ivory card with baby blue piping around the edges.    
  
_ You are invited to the wedding of Artem Markelov to Sergey Sirotkin  _ _  
_ _  
_ It declares in Russian. Mitch furrows his brow as he turns the card over, spotting the hurried Russian scrawled on the back.    
  
_ It would mean alot if you were to come, Mitchy.  _ _  
_ _  
_ “What’s that about?” A familiar voice says, a pale arm sliding over his waist, a gentle kiss pressed to the nape of his neck. Mitch leans back into his boyfriend’s touch, smiling gently.  
  
“Nothing, just an old friend,” Mitch says as Alex’s lips dance over his neck, tracing over the bronzed skin.    
  
“Anyone I know?” Alex asks, smiling.    
  
“Artem,” Mitch says quietly, watching the smile dim slightly. “He’s getting married this summer,”   
  
“Hmm,” Alex hums under his breath. “Wasn’t he the one who tried to shoot me years ago?”   
  
Mitch makes a noise of agreement. “Can’t believe you came back for more,”   
  
“Well, I wanted to see you again, can you blame me?” Alex jokes, his lips dancing against Mitch’s ear.  
  
Mitch thinks back two years, to when he and Artem had parted ways. He’d ended up meeting Alex once more at a party. He remembers talking to the tall teenager, remembers ending up in Alex’s room talking about the future, about the pressures they were both under. Alex hadn’t kissed him until the third time they had met up, the two teenagers tangled into the sheets of Alex’s bed. They’d sneaked around for a few months, meeting up when they could before Sebastian had found out and insisted that they begin dating. Any thought of Artem left Mitch’s mind as he’d settled down and pretended that they were ordinary young men, that they weren’t heirs to such notorious families.    
  
He looks back down at the card.    
  
“You want to go?” Alex asks, his brown eyes locked on Mitch’s.    
  
Mitch nods once. He knows that it will be painful to go and watch Artem get married but he feels like he needs closure, that he needs to move on from this stupid crush.    
  


* * *

  
  
“You came,” Artem says softly. Mitch glances up at the man - the captain of the Bratva, holding a champagne flute gracefully in between his fingers, the blood beginning to stick to his white wedding shirt where his new wedding brand has been placed. “I didn’t think you would,”   
  
“I had to,” Mitch says quietly.    
  
“I see that you ended up with Alex,” Artem replies, looking out over the skyline of Moscow. “I didn’t see that coming,”   
  
Mitch feels the blush dance over his cheeks. “Well...we’ve been dating for about a year and a half,”   
  
“And your dad is okay with that?” Artem asks with a raised eyebrow.    
  
“I don’t think he had a choice,” Mitch says carefully. “I mean, it took him a few months to get used to the idea, he wasn’t happy with my choice, he didn’t want me to date but he realised that Alex and I loved each other,”   
  
“But you still haven’t?” Artem begins, a uncharacteristic blush spreading over his cheeks. “I mean, you haven’t, you and him-”   
  
“Not yet,” Mitch says. “We wanted to, but my dad- he said not at least until we’re engaged,”   
  
“Engaged?” Artem says, eyes widened. “You’re engaged to him?”   
  
“Not yet,” Mitch says, shaking his head. He glances over to Artem who is still leaning against the balcony. “When I was younger, I wondered if I’d marry you, you know,”   
  
Artem stiffens, his dark eyes turning to Mitch. “Mitch-”   
  
“Sorry, I’ve probably had too much to drink,” Mitch says, looking away.    
  
“Mitch, don’t say things like that,” Artem says, worrying his lip.   
  
“Why?” Mitch asks.   
  
“Because I-” Artem begins, his sorrowful brown eyes gazing down at Mitch before he stiffens, biting his lip.  
  
Mitch is about to ask what the problem is, but he smells the familiar Hugo Boss cologne hanging in the air, Alex’s arm sliding around his waist. “Hey, babe. Aren’t you cold out here?” He says, smiling at Mitch before he notices Artem standing next to the railings. “Markelov,”   
  
“Lynn,” Artem says carefully.    
  
“You want step inside?” Alex says, his eyes turning to Mitch, his hands sliding to pull Mitch closer to him. “It’s cold out here,”   
  
Mitch finds himself nodding as he’s guided back indoors, he catches Artem’s dark brown eyes as he’s lead away by Alex, gives the Russian a small smile as he leaves.    
  


* * *

  
  
Artem watches Mitch fall deeper and deeper in love with Alex as his own duties within the Bratva increase - he watches the couple get engaged, Mark Webber with an enormous grin on his face at the huge diamond sparkling on Mitch’s finger. He continues to carry out his duties in the name of the Brotherhood - thinks about Mitch as he kills people, as he snaps their necks, as he hears their last breath push from their bodies.    
  
He’s in Ufa when he hears that Alex Lynn is not all he seems. He dips deeper into the rumours, tortures a few people to find out the information he needs. He’s ripping the fingernails off an unfortunate man, half yawning when the man spits out exactly what Artem feared all along. He leaves the man bruised and bloodied before he rushes to catch a flight to Moscow, before the eve of Mitch’s wedding.    
  
He arrives at seven in the evening, manages to bypass Mark’s security guards posted around the hotel and knocks on the door he knows to be Mitch’s. The teenager looks surprised to see him.    
  
“Artem, what-” He begins but Artem places a finger on his lips, shaking his head. Mitch lets him into the room, confusion dancing over his face.   
  
“Artem, where’ve you been?” Mitch says, eyes wide as he takes in his blood splattered suit. “Alex told you you weren’t coming to the wedding,”   
  
“Of course he did-” Artem mutters under his breath.    
  
“What?” Mitch says as Artem grabs hold of his hand, his fingers feel the heavy diamond ring still gleaming on the young heir’s finger. “Artem, you’re freaking me out-”   
  
“Don’t marry him,” Artem says. “He’s not who you think-”   
  
“What are you talking about?” Mitch asks, brow furrowed. “You’re not making any sense-”   
  
“You can’t marry him, he doesn’t love you,” Artem says, moving closer to Mitch, his fingers stroking over the Kiwi’s. “You have to listen to me,”   
  
“Artem, I don’t understand-” Mitch begins.    
  
“Alex, he doesn’t love you,” Artem says, his voice hushed and low.    
  
Mitch’s eyes harden. “You don’t know that, you’re just saying that,” He says, trying to pull away.    
  
“Mitch, please, listen,” Artem says, keeping hold of his wrist.    
  
“Why? Why don’t you want me to be happy?”   
  
“I do want you to be happy, I care about you, Mitchy,” Artem pleads, hating how weak his voice sounds.    
  
“You care about me but you come to me on the eve of my wedding to try stop me from marrying the man I love,” Mitch says, his eyes as dark as obsidian. He looks down at his feet. “Just stop confusing me, I- I’ve moved on,”   
  
“Mitch-” Artem says softly. “I’m not-”   
  
“But you are,” Mitch bursts out. “You show up on the eve of my wedding to tell me that Alex doesn’t love me, I don’t know what you want from me,”   
  
“You need to know the truth,” Artem says as Mitch wrenches his hand away. “Mitch, please listen-”   
  
“I don’t need to hear this, you should go,” Mitch says, shaking his head but Artem’s hand lands on his shoulder. “Alex-” Mitch says quietly, stiffening against Artem. The young Russian turns around to see Alexander Lynn standing in the doorway, looking furious.   
  
“What are you doing here, Markelov?” Alex hisses, eyes black.    
  
“Alex, please,” Mitch pipes up. “Don’t make a scene,”   
  
“Why is he here, Mitchell?” Alex says, eyes narrowed. “Why is he here on your wedding night?”   
  
“Alex, don’t hurt him,” Mitch says softly.    
  
“Tell me what he was doing here,” Alex presses, the softness gone from his expression.    
  
“He was just leaving,” Mitch cuts in, folding his arms, his eyes focused on Alex. Artem locks his eyes on Mitch for a moment before he turns on his heel. Mitch catches Alex’s gaze as he leaves, pleading with his fiance to not do anything stupid.    
  


* * *

  
  
“What the fuck are you playing at, Markelov?” Alex snarls, shoving Artem up against the wall. “Why are you in my fiance’s bedroom?”   
  
“I know all about your little deal with Horner, Lynn,” Artem spits, his eyes dark. “I know all about the money you took from him to get cosy with Mitch, you weren’t expecting him to actually fall in love with you, were you?”   
  
“I love Mitch,” Alex says, his eyes dangerous.    
  
“But you loved the money first, didn’t you?” Artem teases, hissing as Alex shoves him into the wall. “Didn’t think you would ever get in so deep,”   
  
“Fuck you, Markelov,” Alex spits. “You don’t know a thing about me and Mitch,”   
  
“Oh really? I know that you made a deal with his grandfather to be with him, to marry him off so that he would inherit the Firm over the Bratva,” Artem says, hissing as Alex’s hand twists around his neck.    
  
“Silence, Markelov,” Alex snarls. “You have no idea about anything. If you breathe a word of this to Mitch, I will kill you,”   
  
“He deserves to know that his husband is a liar,” Artem hisses, fighting against Alex’s hands.    
  
“I will kill you, Markelov. Don’t interfere with my marriage, you’ll regret it,” Alex says, as calmly as he can manage. “I don’t know why you’re even involved anyway-”   
  
“Because I care about Mitch-” Artem begins, only to be interrupted by Alex laughing, smile stretching over his face.    
  
“Wait, you care about him -” Alex pauses, eyes widening. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”   
  
“No,” Artem says but his voice sounds weak and Alex’s smirk intensifies.    
  
“You are, Markelov. You’ve always been in love with him, all this time. That’s why you couldn’t stand me, because I took away the one thing you wanted,” Alex says, his hands moving away from Artem’s neck, the smile still clinging to his lips. “And he will never love you,”   
  
“Fuck you,” Artem snarls, teeth gritted.    
  
“He loves me, Markelov. You had your chance years ago, but you didn’t take it,” Alex says, shaking his head. Artem slumps against the wall, closing his eyes, tears threatening to prick in them. “You’re a married man anyway, I should have you killed,”   
  
“Kill me then,” Artem yells out, between gritted teeth. “Kill me,”   
  
“No need to do that,” Alex says quietly. “That would be the easy option,” He says, turning on his heel. “Stay away from Mitch and away from our wedding, Markelov, or as a new member of the Bratva, I will make you regret it,” He snaps, before he walks away. Artem waits for him to leave before he slumps against the wall, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks.    
  


* * *

  
  
Artem attends the wedding. He sits right at the back, his hand hidden on his gun as he watches Mitch and Alex pledge their lives to one another, biting his tongue as the priest asks if anyone has a reason that the two should not be wed. He watches Mitch smile as he gently pecks Alex on the lips, the heir’s arm curving around his new husband. He watches Mitch cut the cake with Alex, watches him laugh as Alex leads Mitch onto the dancefloor for the first dance. He downs the line of shots before him, trying not to cough at the bitterness rolling over his tongue before he finds himself going to the balcony. Taking in large gulps of air, he sighs heavily, trying not to think about Mitch, about the ring on his finger.    
  
“Artem,” A familiar voice pulls him out of the void, cutting through the fog of alcohol. Mitch stands before him, still dressed in his wedding suit, brand stark against his chest.    
  
“Sorry, I know I shouldn’t be here-” Artem says, shaking his head. “I should go,” He turns on his heel but Mitch catches his wrist before he moves.    
  
“Wait,” Mitch says. “Why did you come?”   
  
“I wanted you to know the truth about Alex, I wanted you to know that you were marrying into a lie,”   
  
“I knew about Alex’s deal,” Mitch says quietly. “I found out months ago,”   
  
“And yet, you still love him,” Artem says, fighting back the laugh that bubbles over his lips. “After everything he’s done?”   
  
“You can’t control who you fall in love with,” Mitch says, fiddling with his wedding ring. “You’d know about that though wouldn’t you?”   
  
“I don’t know what you mean-” Artem begins.    
  
“You were in love with me, or you are in love with me, I don’t know which,” Mitch says, looking down at the floor. The silence stretches out between them for a moment. “I loved you too once, when I was younger,” Mitch says, scraping his shoe against the tiles of the balcony.    
  
“Then you grew up,” Artem says and Mitch nods, worrying his lip.    
  
“I’m sorry-” Mitch says quietly but he pauses as Artem’s hand gently cups at his cheek, eyes searching each other.    
  
“Don’t be sorry,” Artem says softly. “I’m sorry that I was a coward, that I never told you,” He leans in, closing the distance between them. Their lips meet tentatively, barely a brush of skin over skin, as Artem’s finger traces over Mitch’s cheek. The kiss seems to last for a lifetime, lips dancing over each other, Artem eliciting a low moan from Mitch. However, it seems to be over as quickly as it began as Mitch pulls away, cheeks red from blush.  
  
“I’m sorry,” He says again, looking down at the floor. “We shouldn’t have-”   
  
“No, I’m sorry for being selfish,” Artem says softly. “I’m sorry for being selfish, I just had to know,”   
  
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Mitch replies, worrying his lip.    
  
“Me too,” Artem says as they glance over the illuminated skyline of Moscow. Artem wants nothing more than to slide his hand around Mitch’s shoulders, to pretend that they’re in love, to pretend that the rings on their fingers weren’t given to them by other people. But the illusion is soon broken as Alex seeks out his new husband. He smirks in victory as he slides his arm around Mitch’s waist in an almost possessive fashion, the smaller Kiwi leaning into his touch as they leave the balcony.    
  
Artem turns back to the view before him, looks down into the street below and wonders. He’s no longer afraid he thinks, his fingers loosening on the railing as he watches the people below. He thinks about Mitch, about their lives tangled together as he leans over the railing.    
  
He tries to forget.    



End file.
